All Things in Time
by lyssannewhite owl
Summary: In all ages there is light and dark. At all times there is love and fear. Severus knows these things, but will he know how to help a woman born more than five hundred years in the past? There are secrets that even the Headmaster of Hogwarts doesn’t kno
1. Default Chapter

**Prologue**

The Oracle of Lastarra 

One child of Light

Doth through weakness rise,

To spread her joy

O'er a land that cries.

Though with fatigue,

Pain, and fear she's faced,

Within her heart

Darkness finds no place.

One special gift

To dispel the night,

Destroy the Darkness

And bring forth the Light.

One fragile girl

With a soul most pure,

Breaks Evil's strength

Thus, doth Good endure.

August 15, the year of our Lord, 1496 

A single beam of moonlight shone through ominous black clouds, illuminating a lone figure atop the hill just outside the tiny village of Llytlesby. The young woman shivered slightly as she gazed at the strangely turbulent night sky. The normally warm summer air had been chased away by a foreboding chill, unheard-of for this time of year. A cold blast of wind stirred her hair and the girl hurried to don a faded and worn cloak. Even the long sleeves of her rather plain gown were insufficient protection against this chill.

Lyssanne Caelestis lived in a small cottage a short distance from the village below. She cherished the company of others, yet the young woman often found the relative isolation of her home comforting. For, this seemingly ordinary peasant maid had an unusual gift. Or was it a curse? She could, without making the slightest effort, sense the emotions of any person who came within a few feet of her. Her gift was such that she actually experienced the feelings of others, be they joy, sadness, anger, or any other, as though they were her own. She avoided large crowds for obvious reasons. While this empathy, as she called it, afforded her a rare insight into the lives of others, she never intentionally sought such knowledge, nor did she try to glean more than what came to her automatically. To do so would, in her opinion, violate the most basic rights and dignity of human society.

Pulling her cloak more tightly around her, Lyssanne began the descent toward the nearest cluster of huts and cottages. As she rounded a bend in the worn dirt path, her thoughts returned to the reason for her late-night journey. Something evil was brewing in the village. She had felt it even before the dark clouds had eclipsed the moon outside her window. She could feel the growing despair, sadness, and fear of the villagers even at that great distance. Never before had the emotions of others carried to her from so far away. She knew there could be only one explanation - Funestra.

A beautiful, but cold-hearted woman in her mid fifties, Funestra was known to practice the abominable art of witchcraft. Beyond even that, she seemed to find some twisted delight in causing pain. Though Lyssanne had heard the rumors surrounding the reclusive woman many times, she had seen her in person only once. That one chance encounter had told Lyssanne all she needed to know. The sorceress was simply evil.

The darkness engulfing Llytlesby grew more oppressive as Lyssanne neared the town square. Deserted streets and darkened homes gave the impression of a village long abandoned. However, the chorus of voices drifting from the central square seemed to indicate that the entire population was congregated in that one area. Attempting to steel herself against the tumult of emotion that would be emitted by such a large gathering, she rounded the last corner.

Lyssanne felt the piercing cold of Evil's shroud moments before she saw the slithering black mist coiling about the villagers' feet. The force seemed to be spawned from the night itself as it clutched at the unsuspecting townspeople, draining all joy and hope from their hearts. Funestra's favorite tool of terror dimmed even the light of the hundred or so torches held aloft in that square. As though sensing her presence, a hazy tendril broke free of the throng and snaked its way toward Lyssanne. With sheer force of will, she pushed aside the invading despair and allowed the light of her joys to repel this entity she alone could see.

Lyssanne turned her attention back to the unknowingly besieged villagers. She had witnessed the effects of the foul fog more times than she could name. Though she seemed able to shake its bonds easily enough, others who encountered it were quickly overwhelmed. She had seen ordinarily cheerful people lash out in anger, fall into the depths of depression, become physically ill, and be brought to the very edge of insanity while ensnared by this vile shroud. Normally such attacks were perpetrated against a single person or small group. Therefore, Lyssanne suspected that, since Funestra seemed to gain some sort of strength each time her shadowy parasite did its work; the witch did not wish to be noticed. But tonight, all subtlety had been abandoned.

Seeing a stout, middle-aged woman at the edge of the crowd, Lyssanne asked why everyone was gathered in one place. Straining to hear above the buzz of conversation, she learned that one of the village children had run away and could not be found. Every inch of the town and outlying areas had been searched to no avail. With the woman's next words she knew, beyond doubt, where the boy would be hiding.

The boy, Gareth Evans, had gotten into an argument with his parents. As he stormed from the cottage, he had shouted that he would find his own castle to live in. Lyssanne, whose task it was to instruct and care for the village children, knew of Gareth's fondness for the ruined keep that stood some distance to the west.

Without another word, Lyssanne rushed from the square in the direction of the old ruins. Normally, she would have attempted to draw the shadowy mist that hovered about the square away from the other inhabitants, but tonight it was too strong and she had too little time. If the boy had fallen into Funestra's hands… She didn't want to contemplate the possibilities.

Coming to a breathless halt near the base of a crumbling tower, Lyssanne found him. The once majestic fortress walls that surrounded the tower were now a mass of dark, broken stone, resembling decaying teeth. Gareth was crouched between the remains of an outer wall and a large stone, which had fallen from its place long ago. The boy shrank deeper into his hiding place as she approached. Lyssanne could feel the terror welling up inside him. He had not yet recognized her.

"Gareth, be not afraid," she said in a soft, soothing voice.

"M-M-Mistress Lyssanne?" he asked. When she confirmed her identity, he flung his arms around her neck and sobbed,

When he seemed to relax a bit, she continued, "Are you harmed in any way?"

Gareth shook his head and whispered, "Is _she_ still here?"

"I know not," Lyssanne replied, well aware of whom he spoke. The young teacher felt a wave of relief now that she knew her pupil was uninjured, at least physically.

"She – she's _unnatural_!" Gareth tugged at Lyssanne's hands as if to pull her closer to his stone hiding place. "I was sitting on the steps…and then she was just there…right there in front of me…like the air opened up and she walked through it." He looked around franticly and continued speaking so softly and so rapidly that Lyssanne had to strain even her sensitive hearing to understand him. "She said I was trespassing upon her lands and then – " He paused a moment and look into Lyssanne's eyes. "She made red sparks come at me, from her hand! I tell you truly. She did. So I ran behind the walls and she kept flinging those sparks and laughing." He shuddered.

"Listen carefully," Lyssanne said in a hushed voice, her heart now pounding as much with Gareth's fear as with her own. "I want you to run to the town square. Run as fast as you are able. You will be safe there."

"But, you are coming with me, are you not?" he asked clutching her more tightly.

"I will be right behind you," she assured. Lyssanne pried his arms from her neck and looked very seriously into his eyes. "You are much faster than I, so I do not want you to look back or slow down to wait for me. Do you understand what I ask?" Without breaking eye contact, she placed her cloak around the shivering boy's shoulders and awaited his reply.

"But, Lady Lyssanne," he protested, the fear she saw in his eyes intensifying, "that horrid woman will find you."

Gareth had used the pet name the children had given her. For truly, Lyssanne was not of high noble birth, but a simple peasant whose only skill was tending children.

"You must have faith. I shall be safe; for, you will offer a prayer for me as soon as you reach the square. And I shall be protected."

The boy nodded solemnly, his eyes now full of determination and purpose. He rose to his feet and turned toward the village. Lyssanne watched briefly as his little legs carried him faster than she had ever seen him move. Though slightly relieved, she was well aware that the danger had not yet passed - for either of them.

Hearing a rustling noise behind her, Lyssanne closed her eyes briefly in a silent plea for strength and courage. She slowly rose to her feet and turned to face Funestra. The woman was elegant, standing atop the stone steps of the ruined tower like a queen emerging from her palace. She wore a gown of black silk, over which was draped an ebony cloak that swirled around her tall frame in the gusting wind. Her hair was a fluttering shadow amid the gloom, as black as the heart that beat within her chest. The coldness and bitterness of her emotions as she drew nearer assaulted Lyssanne with an almost painful force.

"So, I see that you received my little invitation," Funestra said in a voice that could have frozen fire. "Welcome to my ancestral home." She made a mockingly grand, sweeping gesture to indicate the ruins surrounding them. "_Lovely_, isn't it?"

"Invitation? Whatever do you mean, Milady?" Lyssanne asked cautiously. Not completely trusting the steadiness of her legs, she affected a quick, rather shallow curtsey.

Though Lyssanne would have preferred to make a hasty retreat, the younger woman knew that to seem less than polite would be unwise. She may fear and detest everything Funestra stood for; but, if she knew anything, Lyssanne Caelestis knew her place. She would show the proper respect due the station to which the other had been born. Besides, she had no wish to incur this noblewoman's wrath. No one really knew the extent of Funestra's dark powers. More importantly, if Lyssanne could engage the witch in conversation long enough, perhaps Gareth would safely reach Llytlesby before Funestra noticed his absence. And – just maybe – the distraction would be sufficient to break the vile hold the sorceress had over the village this night

"Oh come now, even you can hardly be that naive," Funestra responded with disdain. "You are most predictable. I knew you would not hesitate to come to the aid of a child."

"But, why –. How could you consider harming a child? Doth your soul not protest such things? And why would you wish to lure me here? If you wished to speak with me, why not simply follow the custom of society? I would surely have obliged."

At that moment, Lyssanne pushed aside her own fears and determined to do whatever she could to help her people, even if it cost her very life.

"My soul? I _have_ no soul. That was stolen from me long ago by your '_good society_'." Funestra paused to gesture once more at the crumbling structure surrounding them. "I lost all concern for such things when the _good people_ of Llytlesby turned their backs on the family that had been their landlords for centuries. Branded as outcasts, exiled from our home, some even put to death…. Did your precious society consider the harm their actions caused _me_ as a child!"

"I can in no way imagine the pain those times must have brought to your childhood," Lyssanne said with true compassion in her voice. She unknowingly sent waves of soothing emotion in Funestra's direction, as always longing to comfort anyone in pain. "You must realize that, after all these years, the elders who made that choice no longer live. I am certain it was a most difficult decision for them; but, considering the alternative, what were they to do?"

"I am well aware of the options they had," Funestra spat. "But, no matter, I have begun to remedy the situation. And now," the witch continued in a sickeningly sweet voice that dripped of sarcasm, "_Child of Light_, you will assist me."

As Funestra swept over to a low wall that had once formed a small courtyard, Lyssanne wondered at the strange way the woman had addressed her. The phrase did seem vaguely familiar, but she couldn't place where she had heard it before.

"I would gladly help you to relieve the burdens on your soul," Lyssanne said sincerely. She truly believed that it was never too late for redemption. "But, to do that you must renounce these wicked practices and turn your thoughts from vengeance."

Funestra laughed, a high-pitched, mirthless sound that caused a knot of dread to form in Lyssanne's stomach.

"Spare me your sweetness-and-light babble. I neither need nor want your words of pity and redemption. I have an entire kingdom at my feet," the witch stated with sinister triumph. "And now, you alone stand in my way."

Moving as quietly as possible to her right, Lyssanne realized that Funestra was stirring something in a large, rusty pot that Lyssanne had not noticed previously. The cauldron was situated over a small fire, just behind the low wall.

"It is you who should be pitied now. For, you are about to help me prove the falseness of the Oracle of Lastarra."

"But what has the prophecy to do with me?" Lyssanne asked, now thoroughly confused. "I am no-one of consequence to affect such things." The Oracle, she recalled, was a prophecy from long ago that told of one who would save their people from a great evil.

"That, at least in a few moments, will be quite true," Funestra said, ladling something into an earthenware cup. The strange bubbling liquid hissed and steamed as it made contact with the much cooler vessel. "Enough useless chatter. Prepare to be extinguished, Child of Light!"

Lyssanne sensed the attack a split-second before it came. She moved even before Funestra drew back the hand holding the cup. Clinging to the knowledge that, no matter the outcome, she was in God's hands, she dove to her left. Even as she moved, Lyssanne's left hand automatically grasped the pendant she always wore near her heart, and she had time enough only to pray, "Deliver me." Reflexively, she threw out her right arm to shield her face. This proved to be unwise, as part of the scalding potion struck her inner forearm.

Clutching at her arm, Lyssanne fell to the ground and caught a momentary glimpse of the tree that had stood behind her mere seconds before. It had absorbed the majority of the potion and was changing before her very eyes. It seemed to be aging rapidly. Green leaves shriveled and fell, bark became blackened, then gray and crumbling. Then, as she watched the entire tree collapse upon itself and turn to ash, she felt a tugging at her right arm.

The next thing she knew, she was spinning and falling rapidly at the same time. Colors whirled around her in a dizzying blur. She offered one last silent prayer as she plummeted in an endless free-fall. Lyssanne closed her eyes and hoped that her arm would not be torn completely from her body. It was being pulled outward by an unseen force that gripped the spot where the potion had struck.

_August 15, 1996_

Severus Snape Apparated in a small clearing, near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Glad to be headed back to the routine familiarity of Hogwarts after yet another summons; he trudged through the dense underbrush toward the open school grounds.

As he moved slowly along his customary shortcut through the trees, he caught a flash of white light and a slight movement out of the corner of his eye.Though he could think of a few Hogwarts residents who would be foolish enough to wander into the forest in the dead of night, only _Potter_ was stupid enough to leave the path this deep in the forest. But that particular nuisance, along with the other students, was presently home for the summer. Severus knew of only one person, other than himself, who would dare such a thing, and Rubeus Hagrid was away on important business for the headmaster. This did not make the least bit of sense. If Voldemort had sent a spy, or something worse, without telling him -. He quickened his pace, no longer concerned with stealth as he drew near the lone figure he had spotted moving through the trees.

Suddenly, the spinning ceased, Lyssanne's descent slowed, and she felt the brush of leaves and twigs against her sides. The next instant she landed with a jolt amid thick grasses and dense foliage. Rising gingerly upon her knees, she glanced around at what appeared, strangely enough, to be a very dark and impenetrable forest.

The dense forest engulfed her, its massive branches clutching at her like the many tendrils of some prehistoric squid. Lyssanne stumbled along, trying to find an exit, a clearing, anything to free her from the shadowy web of foliage in which she was ensnared. Where she was, or how she came to be there, she did not know. For, no such forest existed even remotely near her home. Her right forearm burned ceaselessly and she still felt lightheaded from the fall, or whatever it was that had landed her in her current predicament.Lyssanne tried to ignore the sounds of nocturnal forest creatures, especially the eerie cries of creatures as yet unknown to her, but the night would allow her no such peace. Then she heard the most frightening sound of all – footsteps. And they were coming closer. Had she been followed? Was that evil sorceress approaching even now to finish what she had attempted barely a half-hour before?


	2. Chapter 1: At Destiny's Door

**Summary**

In all ages there is light and dark. At all times there is love and fear. Severus knows these things, but will he know how to help a woman born more than five hundred years in the past? There are secrets that even the Headmaster of Hogwarts doesn't know, ones he must discover. Even the boy who lived faces a darker evil than before, but when there's darkness inside, who will guide him? The wizarding world will learn that all things; families, their lands, their destinies, and even their demons, are rooted in time. Will these lessons come to late? Will the past or the present cause the future to crumble, or, will an ancient prophecy hold true? SS?

**Chapter One**

**At Destiny's Door**

Through the darkest of nights,

To a forest of frights.

A Dark enchantment is cast,

The world I knew now is past.

A journey has begun,

The door is sealed through which I've come.

Will the road I follow lead me home,

Or to worse things than I've yet known?

To destiny's path I know I'm bound,

Alas, I fear, a foe I've found.

A dark stranger here awaits,

And there's a joining of our fates.

Ahead, a castle most immense,

It's all kept safe, no guards, no fence.

The stranger beckons me inside,

To this place where his secrets hide.

Wherever I go magic finds me,

I struggle, but still I'm not free.

Within these walls perhaps I'll grow,

And return home with what I know.

Lyssanne was running now, or as close to running as one could in such a thick tangle of branches. Her pursuer was gaining ground rapidly, obviously a person much taller than she. Of course, nearly everyone over the age of 10 fit _that_ description.

Her knees grew wobbly as the events of the past two hours began to take their toll. Her fear for Gareth and her frantic race to find him, the confrontation at the ruins, and her unexpected journey to this place – each ripped a new hole in the wineskin of her energy reserves. Now this flight through the forest was certainly not improving matters. But still she ran. For, even if she could, by some miracle, elude her pursuer, to remain trapped among these trees was quite likely to insure that she became the next meal for whatever creature kept uttering that unearthly howl. Oh, Lyssanne had reminded herself that wild creatures surely feared her more than she feared them, but she was no huntress and had no means of defense should apprehension turn to appetite.

As Lyssanne swung to the left, narrowly escaping a collision with a massive tree, she caught a glimpse of a billowing black cloak and ebony hair.

"_Funestra_," she breathed.

It wasn't enough that the evil witch had, by some dark power, sent her to this terrifying place – now she had followed as well. Escaping the sorceress would be impossible in this forest.

Lyssanne's thoughts were interrupted as a shadow, darker than the rest, suddenly loomed directly in her path. As she came to an abrupt halt, she noticed that the figure was brandishing a weapon of some sort, shorter than a sword, yet longer than a dagger. Though the darkness mostly obscured the object, she had seen a glint of light reflected off something slender and black. Whatever the thing was, it was pointed directly at her heart.

"Don't move. It could be your last step."

The voice was silky, low, and very definitely male. The words were spoken with such deadly calm that a chill ran up Lyssanne's spine. _Not Funestra,_ she thought, _perhaps I _shall_ survive this._ She clung to that fleeting ray of hope as the man took a menacing step forward.

"Explain your presence here," he said, shifting the object in his hand ominously.

Who was this man, a dark knight guarding his lands or those of his liege? She could not see his face, as his features were shrouded in shadow. His commanding words had been spoken with a confidence and authority that indicated power as lethal as a double-edged sword. Lyssanne took a shuddering breath, attempting to calm her racing heart, and spoke in as steady a voice as she could muster considering her recent exertion and fear.

"Please good sir, you need no weapon against me," she responded, affecting a small curtsey. "I assure you, I intend neither harm nor trespass."

"And I am supposed to be foolish enough to believe a stranger whom I have never seen? Who are you? Who sent you and what are you doing here at this hour?"

He had asked who sent her. Did he suspect -? Could he possibly know that Funestra had somehow instantly transported her here, possibly miles from the place she had been? No, that was inconceivable. Still, she must choose her words carefully. Lyssanne knew the penalty for anyone suspected to be in any way involved with sorcery. The Inquisition cared not whether one was a victim or perpetrator of magic; the penalty was often the same. She dared not say anything to give this man, be he knight, nobleman, or poacher, further cause to mistrust her. She knew all too well that her very life depended on the goodwill of the stranger before her.

"I – I fear I have lost my way." She was now gazing at her feet. "I only sought to find the border of this dreadful wood."

"These woods are not exactly the most welcoming place for a wandering stranger. Perhaps, if you are not some sort of assassin, I should take you to Hogwarts and we can sort things out there."

The man stepped forward as if he were going to run right into Lyssanne. She backed away somewhat timidlyHis strides were full of purpose and a strength she feared. Yet he had not harmed her, but still he held some kind of weapon, poised and ready.

"Follow me, and I suggest that you do not lag behind. There are creatures in this forest who would be far more curious to get to _know _you than I am." He emphasized the word know, and Lyssanne was certain that, whatever creatures they might be, she wouldn't be having tea with them.

He could tell the girl was struggling to keep pace with his much longer strides. She could not have been much taller than the average Hogwarts first year, though it was difficult for him to determine her age in the darkened woods. He slowed to a stop just before the tree line, where moonlight was just visible through the leaves. The girl, lady, or whatever she was – Severus did not know – moved quietly alongside him. Did she fear him? He did not know and perhaps he did not care.

"What, may I ask, is your name?" he hissed.

"Lyssanne," she answered in a small voice. "What is this _Hogwarts_ you spoke of?"

She seemed an odd sort to him. It was unclear whether she was a witch or a Muggle. She seemed quite mugglish not knowing about Hogwarts and staring quite fixedly at his wand, but there was also something special about her. Something Severus could not quite put his finger on.

"Hogwarts," he said, gesturing before him as they emerged from the trees.

She gasped audibly and paused, probably to take in the castle's magnificence, for a moment. Severus was now quite sure she was totally unfamiliar with the school; for, had she known of it, or seen pictures of it, she could not have shown such an astonished reaction to the sight of it. Severus would know if she was hiding something. He was, after all, the wizarding world's most talented spy, wasn't he? The look of awe and wonder on her face was one Severus had seen on the faces of Muggles many times, usually right before they would need to have their memories wiped after seeing the simplest of magical acts. But then, the same look could be seen on Ronald Weasley's face at various times throughout his years as a Hogwarts potions' student.

"Oh, it is beautiful! And so many inhabitants," she breathed, gazing with wonder at the many lighted windows. "But, where are the guards?"

"We have other, more subtle, ways of protecting what is ours from those whom we find to be unwelcome."

She lowered her head and silently followed him toward the castle. He could not understand why she insisted on walking a few paces behind him. He stopped abruptly to eye her. After all, she could be carrying weapons he was unable to see, or even be from another land with magic foreign to him. The latter was quite unlikely, because Severus had studied abroad and considered himself well versed in the many forms of magic.

"Is my presence so objectionable to you that you cannot bring yourself to walk beside me?"

"Not at all, but to do so would be unseemly, Milord. Am I, a mere peasant, to enter your lands, your home as though I presume to be your equal?" she replied.

"I insist."

"I dare not! You are obviously a person of great importance, while I – I am nothing." Though her voice trembled and her eyes remained downcast, she spoke with great conviction.

Severus's patience was waning. This…this Lyssanne was the strangest person he had known thus far. She was certainly making him quite suspicious. The girl had a peculiar way of speaking. What would Dumbledore think? Of course it probably didn't matter, as Dumbledore liked everyone. Even he, Severus, had a place in the old man's heart.

"If you wish to enter the castle under your own power, you will walk either beside or ahead of me. Is that clear, Lyssanne?"

Apparently his statement was clear because the girl began quietly walking beside him. He thought it strange that, although she seemed to speak the oddest form of English he had ever heard, she could still understand his most common dialect quite well.

She hesitated halfway up the steps. With a swirl of his dark robes, he turned a questioning gaze upon her. He stood several steps above her, making her seem even smaller than before. There was a look of apprehension on her face as she gazed up at him.

"M-might I be so bold as to request…due to the lateness of the hour, and since I am unsure in which direction lies my home…w-would you be so kind as to allow…might I possibly work in your kitchens on the morrow in exchange for shelter from the night?"

Her eyes held a fearful plea with the tiniest spark of hope. He had seen that look many times on the faces of hardened Death Eaters as they stood before their master, hoping they had said or done nothing to incite his wrath.

"Work in our kitchens? Surely the headmaster would never expect a guest in the castle to do such nonsense."

"Headmaster? And –"

"If you would discontinue your endless chatter, those things we feel should be revealed to you, will be, in a short time." He turned and continued up the stairs. "Enter." He felt like he was repeating himself as he gestured in front of him, but he was in no mood to deal with this meddlesome stranger.

They stepped into the entrance hall. Severus gestured Lyssanne forward once more and followed closely behind her. She tottered on her feet almost unbalancing herself. Quickly he reached to steady her.

"Thank you," she whispered quite breathlessly.

Gazing down at her he realized that she was no child, but a young woman. She was petite, yet not skinny. Her flowing coppery-blond hair nearly reached her waist and was tangled in several places with leaves. The robe, or gown, she wore seemed to be composed of two layers. A modest, white under-robe with long narrow sleeves, flared at the wrists, was covered by a tan, sleeveless garment, made of some coarse material, which flared gently from the waist into a floor-length flowing skirt. The girl – no, woman – had a heart-shaped face with the most vivid blue eyes he had ever seen. Her face, Severus noticed, appeared a shade too pale in comparison with the rest of her alabaster skin. _She must be ill_, he thought, hoping he wouldn't have to keep her from falling over every ten steps.

"This way," he said, his tone holding slightly less contempt than it had previously. "I believe we should pay a visit to the headmaster." Turning on his heel, he led the way down the corridor.

Flickering torchlight illuminated the shadowy corridors of Hogwarts as Lyssanne half walked; half ran to keep up with her escort. She made a futile attempt to note landmarks along the way. Once, she thought she saw the subject of a portrait yawn as she passed. She supposed the wavering shadows and her hurried pace were playing tricks on her eyes. Catching fleeting glimpses of polished wood or gleaming stone, she marveled at how many servants it must take to keep this enormous fortress so spotless. The entrance hall alone could hold the inhabitants of her entire village! The landlord of Hogwarts must possess the wealth of a king. She wondered whether the man she now followed was the lord of Hogwarts, or perhaps it was this _headmaster_ he had mentioned.

Suddenly, Lyssanne realized that she had lost sight of her raven-haired companion around the next corner. Knowing he would be displeased were she to lag behind, she quickened her pace. She certainly did not wish to become lost in this labyrinth of corridors and stairways. Once more catching sight of his billowing black cloak, she mused that he seemed to glide on air, his steps making absolutely no sound. He reminded Lyssanne of a panther prowling the night; all grace and confidence, yet poised to pounce at a moment's notice.

As they rounded another corner, she briefly caught sight of his profile. He was, she supposed, not really handsome in the usual sense. His angular features and hooked nose were a bit too harsh to be considered aristocratic, yet the paleness of his complexion indicated that he was not of the laboring peasant class. In addition, his appearance, like this castle, was impeccably clean…except for his rather oily hair. From this, and the superior manner in which he had spoken to her, she gathered that he must at least be a knight of very high rank. Whoever he was, he was a mystery to her. For the first time in her life, Lyssanne had encountered a person whose emotions were completely unknown to her. Even with the contact of his hand as he had steadied her in the entrance hall, she could sense only that he seemed haunted by something.

Abruptly they came to a halt before an enormous stone gargoyle, which gave Lyssanne an uneasy feeling. The man beside her mumbled something strange about bubbles, mice, and cream, and the massive statue suddenly leapt aside. This caused her to jump a full pace backward.

"W-what, how-?" she stammered.

"Follow me," he commanded.

Lyssanne entered the circular alcove that housed a flight of spiraling stone stairs. She attempted to peer around the gargoyle, wondering where the people or mechanism that had moved it might be hiding.

"The stairs won't bite you, and the headmaster is waiting. There is only one way to his office."

Her companion gestured toward the stairway.

Turning to face the stairs, Lyssanne noticed for the first time that they appeared to be moving! Shaking her head slightly to clear it, she took a tentative step onto the first stair. She felt the stone move upward and nearly lost her balance.

The man reached out a hand to steady her should it be needed, but did not touch her. They moved slowly upward.

The ornately carved door at the top of the stairs swung open as they reached it. This time the knight, or whoever he was, moved on ahead of her, which made Lyssanne feel a bit more at ease. After all, she was not entirely certain she wanted to enter a room whose doors opened of their own accord. They entered what seemed to be a circular chamber, though her view was largely obscured by the tall figure in front of her.

"Ah, Severus, you have returned," commented a gentle male voice from across the room.

Lyssanne thought she detected a slight note of relief in the man's tone. Though she could not presently see him, Lyssanne imagined the speaker to be a refined, elder gentleman.

As they moved farther into the room, Lyssanne's companion nodded slightly in response. He stepped to the side, allowing her full view of the chamber and its only other occupant, who was seated behind a massive polished desk. She did not have the opportunity to consider her surroundings, however, as the dark man at her side was now speaking.

"Headmaster," he said, addressing the silver-haired man behind the desk, "I found this…woman…Lyssanne, wandering the forest near the school grounds." He paused and cleared his throat slightly. "I am unsure whether she has a proper surname as she has yet to inform me of it."

"Caelestis," she quickly replied, looking up at the man beside her, "Lyssanne Caelestis." She said this, naturally, accompanied by a curtsey, customary for such introductions.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Caelestis." The kind voice immediately drew her attention to the wizened gentleman – who, she noticed, was now standing. "I am Albus Dumbledore. Welcome to Hogwarts."

Lyssanne noticed for the first time that their host wore long robes made of some shimmering purple material that was shot through with silvery stars. His half-moon spectacles glistened in front of kind, wise-looking blue eyes. Dyed garments and spectacles were quite costly and very rare, she mused. Mr. Thinsby, the town friar and former clerk to the king, owned the only other pair of eyeglasses she had ever seen. He had told her once that the extraordinary tool had been imported from Italy. Lyssanne was also quite curious about the unusually long style of both men's robes. They did not wear the hose and shorter tunics customary throughout the kingdom.

"Thank you, Lord Dumbledore." She replied, greeting him with a curtsey and a smile.

"I believe, my dear," he responded, chuckling, "that _Professor_ will suffice."

"Oh, I –" she trailed off, unsure of what to say next. She thought the peculiar title was used in some elite circles to address masters of academic instruction, but she was not certain.

"As you have already met Professor Severus Snape, shall we all be seated?" He gestured to two soft chairs, which she was almost certain had not been there a moment before.

Once they were seated, he offered her something he called a "lemon drop" from a crystal dish. Not wishing to appear impolite or ungrateful, Lyssanne accepted the tiny candy. She was certain her face must have portrayed her sudden surprise at the strong burst of lemon flavor.

"So, what brings you to our door tonight?" Dumbledore asked in a kind, mildly curious voice that held no hint of accusation.

Unwilling to reveal more, she simply described her unsuccessful attempts to find her way out of the forest.

"I daresay I would have remained in that wood for all eternity if not for the appearance of Lord Snape."

Hearing a sudden rustling of cloth to her left, she turned in the direction of the man who had, quite possibly, saved her life. The look of disdain on his face as he gazed at her gave Lyssanne the impression that she had once more misspoken.

"Is it _Sir_ Severus, then?" she attempted. However, he only raised one black brow at this. "It seems, Sir, that I am at a loss as to the proper manner in which I should address you."

"Professor Snape is fine as we are not yet acquainted on a first name basis." He said scowling.

"It was then," she continued, addressing Dumbledore, "that Professor Snape brought me to this grand castle." Turning to her left once more, she added in a soft voice, "A thing for which I am most grateful." As she spoke, she looked, for the first time, directly into her rescuer's dark eyes, hoping to convey the sincerity of her words. But, like two inkwells at opposite ends of a scribe's desk, his eyes seemed to wait for something else, something more, before they would write any emotion across his face.

"Perhaps, after a night's rest, we shall be able to assist you in returning to your home," Dumbledore suggested. "Where, by the way, do you reside?"

"Llytlesby," she replied. "It is a small village in the western province."

"The western province," Dumbledore paused, staring speculatively at his folded hands, "of France?"

"Not France," she clarified, "the western province of Lastarra." Lyssanne silently mused that, apparently, Funestra had transported her out of the kingdom entirely.

"I have never heard of such a land. Surely you don't think us fools?" Professor Snape's words were spoken in an icy, superior tone.

"Oh, not at all! But, I assure you, it does exist." Lyssanne looked from one professor to the other, hoping for some sign of recognition. "I _have_ been told that it is a relatively small kingdom, though I would not know about such things. I have never left the boarders of my village. Until now, that is."

"Which brings me to my final question," Dumbledore said, with a brief, skeptical glance at Severus. "How did you come to be in the Forbidden Forest tonight?"

"I – I am not exactly certain." Lyssanne couldn't look at him as she said this, though it _was_ true, if not the truth in its entirety. She honestly _didn't_ know how Funestra had managed to send her here.

"Well, perhaps after a good night of rest the mystery will reveal itself," the grandfatherly professor offered. "Do you have any questions before we show you to your room?"

"None come to mind at present, except -" she paused, wondering if it would be impolite to pry. "Did I hear correctly, that this magnificent castle houses a school?" When he merely nodded, she continued. "If I may be so bold, I'd simply like to say that to open one's home to children for the purpose of learning is, perhaps, one of the most noble deeds of which I have yet had the privilege to know."

"While I would heartily agree, I should let you know that neither Professor Snape nor I can claim ownership of this fine castle. Though I suppose, in a way, it belongs to all of us." Dumbledore spoke with a twinkle in his eye that revealed a genuine love of this place. "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has stood on these grounds for the past thousand years and was constructed solely for the purpose of education."

"D-did you say witchcraft?" she asked incredulously. Surely she had heard wrong. However, at Dumbledore's nod she felt all the blood drain suddenly from her face. "As in – as in _sorcery_?"

"I suppose that is one way of putting it, yes." Though his voice remained calm and kind, it had lost the merriment of a moment ago.

"But that's – how can – if anyone –" she stammered, no longer able to keep the fear and shock from her voice. Her mind was a whirlwind of fragmented thought. First the mist and Funestra, then all that spinning, being lost in a strange land, and now this – it was all too much. The room tilted and she grasped her chair arms with white-knuckled hands. "That – that means you are…"

"Yes, both Severus and I are wizards," he replied in a very serious tone. As he spoke all the colors in the room seemed to intensify and merge together.

"And the children?" she whispered shakily as a white haze began to obscure her vision.

"All possess the gift of magic," he confirmed. His voice sounded as though it was coming to her from the bottom of a deep well.

Could this be real? Had she escaped death at Funestra's hands only to fall into the clutches of an entire community of sorcerers? This was her last thought as she slipped into blackness.

As Lyssanne slowly returned to consciousness, she became aware of a warm wall at her back and the support of a strong arm around her middle. Blinking her eyes slowly, she saw the blurred image of something small moving toward her.

She heard a soft voice somewhere above her and noted only that it was vaguely familiar. She thought absently that the man spoke with a bit more kindness, or at least a little less coldness, than usual.

"Drink," he said handing her a goblet.

Lyssanne attempted to reach for the goblet with far too-shaky hands, even as a small part of her mind warned that, perhaps, to do so would be unwise. However, she was far too weak to protest and could only comply as the goblet was tipped for her. Whatever she had expected, it had not been this peppery liquid that now burned its way down her throat. She coughed delicately and blinked her eyes. Leaning her head back once more against what she now knew to be a shoulder, she realized that the voice she had heard belonged to the man who had rescued her from the forest. She closed her eyes and felt a soft sigh escape as a sense of safety washed over her. Suddenly, a shudder rocked her body from head to foot, as the warm substance began to dispel the internal chill she hadn't even noticed moments before. The arm around her middle tightened ever so slightly.

She thought vaguely that she must have fainted, for she now noticed the cold stone floor beneath her. Someone must have prevented her head from hitting the hard stone as she had slipped from her chair. Waves of memory suddenly hit her like a bucket of cold river water. The man who now supported her was a sorcerer! Lifting her head, she flinched slightly and would have shrank from him had she possessed the strength to move. At that same moment, she saw him place a small vial of some sort into a pocket in his robe. What foul potion had he given her? It was unlikely to be poison, her mind reasoned, as she was still alive and even now felt her strength slowly beginning to return.

Lyssanne struggled to sit up, and Professor Snape released her, placing a hand at her shoulder to steady her still-wobbly frame.

"Are you all right, my dear?" asked the man known as Dumbledore, now coming into view.

"I – yes, I think so," she replied somewhat tremulously.

"Severus, as soon as Miss Caelestis is ready to stand, will you show her to the guest room nearest the old Slytherin staircase?"

"Certainly," ProfessorSnape replied silkily.

After several minutes passed, Lyssanne felt ready to rise and was grateful for the professor's assistance in getting to the chambers she was to use for the night

Author's Note: Thank you for reviewing! We appreciate it!


	3. chapter 2 Into the Panther's Leir

**Chapter 2**

**Into the Panther's Lair**

Into a strange wood where shadows loom,

Innocent feet fearfully tread.

White doe moves onward despite the gloom,

No chance to flee what lies ahead.

He waits, as silent as the night,

Master of stealth, cunning, precise.

His prey he lures, just out of sight,

Trespassers here must pay a price.

Too late she sees the shadows shift,

Wide doe eyes meet piercing stare.

Under this spell, her thoughts he sifts,

Can't escape the panther's lair.

Professor Snape had escorted the young lady to her chambers. She still seemed quite weak, and he had decided to enlist the help of a house elf to look after her until she was feeling herself again. He surely could not be bothered with such tasks. He needed to speak to the headmaster about this stranger. She might not be all that she seemed. Firstly, Muggles could not generally see the castle. to them it, should, appear as merely a pile of ruins. But why then, did she seem to fear magic so entirely? Even the simplest things caused her great distress.

He strode down the hall to the headmaster's office, robes billowing out behind him, touching the air around him like the kiss of the night sky. He was full of purpose. If Lyssanne was here to harm him, or Dumbledore, or even the wizarding world at large, it was up to him to discover what she was about and how to stop her. What stranger turned up in the Forbidden Forest so near midnight without some business at Hogwarts? His steps quickened in time with the thumping of his pulse.

"Bubble gum ice cream," he said to the gargoyle at the entrance of Dumbledore's office.

He spoke with such clarity and determination that the entrance sprang open and the moving staircase carried him to the top twice as fast as it normally did.

Once at the top there was no need to knock. Dumbledore had been expecting him and the door opened efficiently before him. He stepped into the office, his strides covering the distance to Dumbledore's desk in a matter of seconds. He sat without being asked, thus saving the old man from speaking.

"She is hiding something," he told the headmaster without hesitation.

"Of that fact, I am quite aware. And, I am deeply interested in what it is she is hiding," Dumbledore replied.

"I could perform Legilimency on her," Severus suggested in a silky tone.

"I am not sure if that will be necessary," Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

"She lies," Professor Snape said rising to his feet. He began to pace the room, walking a few strides, then turning, his robes a whirlpool of darkness. "Her homeland does not exist. I have studied lands, and customs of other cultures, and magical practices; and I tell you there is no such place!" He stopped pacing and stood facing Dumbledore, waiting for a reply.

"I do not doubt your abilities, Severus," Dumbledore said leaning forward in his chair. "I cannot imagine why the girl would tell untruths about the land from which she came and how she happened to arrive here, at Hogwarts."

"She does not tell untruths."

One of the portraits was speaking now. Neither of the two men had seen him watching them, intently listening to the conversation. Severus turned to face the wall of portraits behind him.

This particular wizard was wearing blood red robes that appeared to be made of velvet. There was elaborate gold embroidery around his neckline and about his wrists. Severus had never paid attention to this particular portrait. He was clearly a Gryffindor and a quite powerful one at that. His hair was blond, despite his clearly aged and wrinkled face, and it sat against his head in tight curls. His green eyes twinkled brightly as he peered at Dumbledore. At least he had a very long beard, Snape thought; otherwise he would look too much like Gilderoy Lockheart.

"This land the young Miss speaks of was quite prosperous at one time." The former headmaster paused. "But that was long ago and it has been nearly five hundred years since I last heard talk of it."

Severus remained skeptical.

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Thank you for that information, Augustus. It is much appreciated."

"Anything to help the headmaster of Hogwarts at a time of need," Augustus said dramatically.

"Well-" Dumbledore began.

Augustus cleared his throat. Dumbledore shifted his gaze away from Severus to return on Augustus once more.

"I suppose you would like to know more about that land and how it was saved from an evil which attempted to dampen its every day?"

"I am not sure we are in need of such information," Severus said coldly, his stare piercing the portrait where Augustus sat quietly. "We are only concerned with matters involving the girl. I hardly have time for a history lesson, nor am I interested in any lesson which _you _will be teaching."

For a moment there was silence, then Augustus spoke.

"Yes, the tale is long but I assure you it is not dull." He placed his hands in his lap. "I am not offended that you do not want to hear me speak of the past. Few souls are willing to spend the time listening to these tales. Someday they will all be forgotten, and the girl will be a memory. No one will be left to listen. No one will know of her struggle."

"What struggle?" Snape snapped impatiently.

"I believe you shall need to discover other means of gleaning that information, since you are unwilling to hear my tale of long ago," Augustus said before he closed his eyes and slept.

Severus tried repeatedly to get the man to wake in his portrait and give more information. His attempts - which included name-calling, threats, and later pleading - were unsuccessful.

"I believe we might have a tool which can give us some valuable information," Dumbledore said finally, reaching for one of the many instruments on his desk.

The thing was rather fragile-looking and sparkled silver in the candlelight. Severus had not seen this particular tool used before. Without saying a word the headmaster tapped his wand on the small instrument which suddenly began to jiggle and tinkle. Wisps of green smoke rose in lazy spirals from a silver, wand-like projection on the top. The amount of smoke that issued from the tiny point of the instrument gradually increased. Soon a proper cloud of green smoke had formed in midair. Dumbledore was eyeing it curiously and muttering what seemed to be sounds of recognition under his breath.

Suddenly the cloud split into two masses of smoke. One, to Dumbledore's right, began to grow a darker green. Soon it was so dark it resembled the leaves of the trees in the Forbidden Forest at night. The cloud on Dumbledore's left became lighter in color, like clovers kissed by the sun. Snape did not know what these two clouds could mean. He thought, for a moment, that he saw figures moving about in the smoky images, but he could not be sure.

"Very interesting," Dumbledore said once the smoke had disappeared and he had returned the instrument to its place.

Severus folded his arms across his chest and waited for an explanation. He got none.

"Exactly what is very interesting?" he asked, sounding almost as though he were addressing one of his students.

"She holds a great deal in her hands. The past is the way it is because of her. We can not send her away; but we must discover what is so important to her, as I cannot see it myself."

"Then I shall perform Legilimency?"

"Yes, I now believe that to be the right course of action."

"I do not know what she is hiding, but I sense something odd about her. Even so, what could be so important in her head? She is almost an ordinary muggle, fainting at the word of magic. I hardly think she will be willing to stay here for long. She fears us more than most wizards fear dementors." Severus returned to his seat.

"She must stay. She must prepare for whatever this battle may be," Dumbledore said firmly. "Her people are depending on her. Everything waits for her return. Mistakes must not be made. Merlin knows I've made too many already." He rubbed his beard introspectively, remorce showing clearly on his wrinkled face.

"But, she is unfit to defend her people from whatever their troubles are. She is weak, fainting at the slightest thing."

"Ah, but she would appear weak to some," Dumbledore said leaning forward. "I suspect other matters are at hand. She was nearly on the verge of collapse when she arrived here. But, it was not because of her weaknesses, nor was it exhaustion from fear." The old man paused in thought. "I suspect a dark force is effecting her. We must help her to move onward. You can help her, Severus. You are much alike."

It appeared as though Dumbledore was finished talking. Snape was furious inside, like a cauldron bubbling more vigorously with each passing second. Why was it that he had to be the one to help her? She was the foolish one who had slipped forward in time, leaving her people and unfinished business behind. But Dumbledore had hinted that perhaps she had been sent here by some dark force. Could that be true? And, if it were true, would that dark force come looking for her? Would Severus be putting himself in danger by helping her? Besides that, how could the Headmaster think that he, Severus, and this Miss Caelistis were anything alike? Had the old man crawled out of his head entirely?

As he left Dumbledore's office he became more curious about what the girl was thinking. He was eager to break into her mind. Her thoughts would not be secrets much longer.

Lyssanne jumped when she heard the knock at her chamber door the following morning. Her surprise was not due to sleep, as she had been awake for some time – most of the night, to be exact. She simply had not heard anyone approach. Hurrying to open the door, she found Professor Snape, once more dressed entirely in black, waiting in the corridor.

"Good morning, Miss Caelestis," he said, as though he'd rather be someplace else.

"Good morn to you Mil- um- Professor," she replied as cheerfully as possible considering who, and what, this man was.

"If you are ready," he said, as though the alternative would be intolerable, "we shall take breakfast in my office. There seem to be several things which we need to discuss." He waved a hand, indicating that she was to proceed as he held the door for her.

They walked a short distance to the end of the corridor. Lyssanne followed the professor around a large statue of a dragon, whose outstretched wings almost entirely concealed the entrance to an ancient-looking stairwell. They began to descend a curving flight of stone stairs that seemed to lead into the very center of the earth. A thick blanket of dust lay atop the steps as if attempting to warm a cold, unyielding bed. The fading light from above cast an eerie glow upon the sparkling particles floating about their feet, creating the illusion that they were walking among starlit clouds. As they at last reached the bottom, Lyssanne observed the dank, dark stone walls and insubstantial light produced by torches in wall brackets. A growing sense of dread washed over her as she followed the professor down the shadowy corridor. The moisture glistening on the stone walls, the muffling of all sound as though they had entered a tomb, and the barely-breached darkness could mean only one thing; they were in a dungeon.

Instantly, Lyssanne's mind was flooded with images from old stories she had heard as a child – horrible stories of torture and other unthinkable atrocities committed in just such a place. She had no time to ponder what fate might await her, as her escort stopped so abruptly that she nearly collided with him. He turned to a door on their right and spoke some incomprehensible phrase. Snape opened the door and once again indicated that she should precede him. A fire burned in a corner of the room. The walls were lined with shelves, which held jars whose contents Lyssanne did not wish to contemplate. She noticed two covered trays and a shallow stone basin, whose contents shimmered in the firelight, atop a large, scarred desk.

"Sit," her host said abruptly, gesturing to a chair opposite his desk.

In one fluid motion he removed the covers from the breakfast trays, sat quietly in his chair and lifted his goblet to drink.

Lyssanne wondered briefly why they were to dine in such an inappropriate place as an office. Surely such customs must seem improper, even to those who followed such dark pursuits as sorcery. Pushing these thoughts aside, she gazed hungrily at the sumptuous food before her. It had been so long since her last meal, but did she dare eat this? She could feel the professor watching her and unwillingly looked up at him.

"The food is not poisoned, Miss Caelestis," he stated, his words dripping with contempt. "I can assure you, had I wished to cause you harm, I would have done so while we were still in the forest. I would not have brought you here had I thought it better to do otherwise."

His words did make sense, she supposed. Still, she cringed inwardly at the casual way he had mentioned precisely when and where he could have harmed her if he'd wished. Even though he had seemed genuinely affronted by her suspicions, Lyssanne got the impression that, if crossed, this man was capable of almost anything. She must be cautious in his presence, choosing her words and actions as carefully as picking her way over snake-infested stones.

"Forgive me," she said a bit shyly. "It was not my wish to offend you, Professor." She truly hoped she had not greatly insulted him; for, to cause another the slightest grief was a thing she could not bear.

As they ate, he began asking her questions.

"What year were you born?" he asked pausing after resting his fork on his plate.

"In the year of our Lord fourteen hundred sixty-eight" Lyssanne answered matter-of-factly.

"So that would make you exactly how old? I do not believe my arithmetic abilities are adequate for such an equation," he said. His voice made Lyssanne shiver.

"I have lived twenty-eight years."

"I see. And what sort of work have you applied yourself to in these twenty-eight years?"

I have charge over the children of Llytlesby," she said with renewed confidence. "I direct their learning and community responsibilities."

"I should like to see how one would go about influencing another's sense of responsibility. There are, most certainly, several students who attend this school, who could benefit from such lessons. For those select few, I have found, that only physical restraint and laborious activities slow their progress with regard to rule breaking. Yet, their sense of responsibility suffers little alteration.

"Oh," Lyssanne breathed, trying to keep her face devoid of the horror welling up inside her. Surely the man must jest, though humor, even of such a dark kind, seemed completely out of place with such a man. But could these people truly be so cruel? Were there, even now, children confined behind one of the doors she had seen down the dungeon hallway, strapped to some horrid device, awaiting who-knew-what? Were errant students forced to do slave labor for childish misdeeds?

Lyssanne shuddered inwardly, knowing that she could never countenance such acts. She rarely spoke a harsh word to anyone, let alone one of her precious charges. How could _anyone _harm a child? It was the same question she had asked Funestra, but this time Lyssanne held her silence.

Lyssanne was dragged away from her thoughts as the professor's icy voice reached her ears.

"How was it that you became educated enough to endure such a danting task? Surely your village is not large enough to hold a university within its boundaries, yet you claim you have not left it in your lifetime."

"No, Llytlesby is a small peasant village. The only university in all of Lastarra is near the palace in Vishta, and only the highest nobility are admitted. Friar Thinsby, who was once clerk to the king, instructed me in letters when I was quite young, then later in mathematics, history, and some languages. He claims he has no head for science, but encouraged me to read anything and everything of interest. Friar Thinsby has a great collection of volumes and often receives more as gifts from the nobles he once served."

A sudden wave of apprehension passed through Lyssanne's heart. Had she revealed too much? Would Friar Thinsby now be in danger? No, she silently assured herself, Professor Snape hadn't even heard of Lastarra. Surely he would not attempt to harm anyone there.

"What an interesting education you have received. At this school it would not be enough to sustain a professorship. However, it is most fascinating to hear you speak of the kindness of others. Their charity is immense no matter how poor their provisions to you might have been," he said with a sneer.

He stood without further comment and removed the breakfast trays briskly. When Lyssanne took a second look at where they had been, they were no longer there.

Following his cue, Lyssanne stood as well, thinking it was now time to leave this place. Before she could take a step, however, the professor was blocking her path. He stood between her and the desk. He was entirely too close – and too tall, but her legs were against the chair behind her, allowing no retreat.

"Miss Caelestis," Severus said coldly, drawing out her name in a low hiss as he stepped forward to get a closer look into her eyes.

Clearly his customary intimidating manner was affecting her. Perhaps it was working too well, as she looked up only slightly. She was gazing at his throat as if it were his throat speaking to her rather than his lips.

The girl took in a shuddering breath and whispered shakily, "Yes?"

When she still hesitated to meet his eyes, he placed a finger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze to his. As he did so, he surreptitiously slid his wand from the sleeve of his other arm. He must act quickly before she had the chance to avert her eyes, as was her custom. She could not know; however, that once the spell was cast, she would be incapable of looking away. Swiftly Severus mumbled the words that would lock her gaze to his and reveal all he needed to know.

As the spell took hold, his first impression was that he had been mistaken in his earlier assessment. This was not the mind of a gifted liar. In fact, he doubted that she was capable of convincingly telling the smallest untruth. Entering her thoughts was as simple a task as walking through the open doors of Hogwarts into the bright sunlight. There were none of the natural barriers the mind erects automatically to guard its secrets. Well, there was one, but it was fragile and would be easy enough for him to breach.

Scenes from her life began to flash before him. She stood gazing sadly upon two graves, those of her parents judging from the family name etched into the crude markers. One seemed fairly new and bore the date, November 1, 1482. She appeared considerably younger than she was now, perhaps in her early teens… Colors swirled as a new scene took shape. Slightly older now, she leaned against a tree with a look of pure delight as she read from a tattered book… She was sitting on a hillside; her eyes alight with joy as she gazed at the children surrounding her. The attention of each child, whether toddler or teen, was focused intently upon her as she favored them with a radiant smile… She knelt in the grass in front of a small cottage, clutching her head between her hands, in obvious agony…

As Severus pushed past the thin barrier, which held her one secret, he realized that this memory was quite recent. She was dressed in the same garment in which he had first seen her. The memory came alive in such vivid detail that he could actually sense everything as she had felt it – the mixture of dread and determination as she faced a dark-haired woman in an elegant black gown, the searing pain in her arm as part of a well-concocted potion made contact despite her attempts to dodge it, her shock as she watched a healthy tree turn to ash, the sensation of falling rapidly through darkness, and the frightening sense of unfamiliarity as she fell to the ground in the Forbidden Forest.

"_Finite Incantatem_," Severus whispered, stepping away from her.

The girl sank into her chair, looking fatigued and a bit disoriented. As he turned his back to her in order to place the memory of what he had just witnessed into the headmaster's pensieve, Severus mused that she was probably wondering exactly what had just happened to her. He turned to face her once more and caught a fleeting glimpse of her eyes before she looked away. The accusation and fear he had seen there told him that she was well aware of his intrusion into her thoughts. While she might lack experience in a great many areas, Severus thought she more than made up for it in intelligence. One thing troubled him, however. In that brief moment when their gazes had met, he realized that the spark of hope, which he had found to be ever-present in her royal-blue eyes, had diminished to near nonexistence.

"Are you feeling ill, Miss Caelestis?"

"I-I uh-" she was at a loss for words.

"Perhaps you could benefit from this?" He stepped forward holding out a goblet of water.

She took it reluctantly. Her hands were shaking violently. Her mistrust was palpable, though he couldn't blame the girl for her misgivings, especially now that he had asalted her mind.

He watched her expectantly. She raised the goblet, bringing it closer to her lips, but did not drink from it.

"Something happened that I cannot explain."

"Yes, many mysterious things seem to occur within these castle walls." He crossed his arms, his lips a thin line. "Water," he emphasized the word and gestured to the goblet, "will help you to feel more…normal."

She took two small sips and did not speak.

"Perhaps I should take you to your chambers so you can rest for the remainder of the day. I believe you have had a long and eventful journey." He extended a hand to help her to her feet. He would have preferred if she had risen on her own but she seemed incapable of doing so. "The house elves will bring you lunch, and then you will be expected in the Great Hall for dinner."

She made no comment as he led her down the hall to her rooms.

He opened the door to her chambers and she stepped inside. He entered just behind her, only following a step or two.

"If you should need anything inform the house elf who will check on you periodically." He turned to leave and, without looking back, added, "I must warn you against wandering the halls, as it is quite easy to get oneself lost." He stepped over the threshold and made to pull the door closed behind him.

"Um, Professor…Sir?"

He wondered what she could want from him. Doubtless, something that could easily be provided by even the least of the house elves.

He turned in the doorway to face her but did not re-enter the room.

"I know this is not quite a proper request, but as I…I have no one else to ask-"

"Go on Miss Caelestis, I don't have all day," he said impatiently.

"Can you…would you be so kind as to tell me where I might find a chamber pot?" she asked shyly.

"We do not use such things," he said matter-of-factly.

She looked entirely shocked and stood quite still.

"Have you not investigated the restroom, or was it unfavorable?" he asked with sarcasm dripping from each word.

"What is this room you speak of? It is not rest which I am seeking."

He grew agitated. Was the girl so daft that she had refrained from using the facilities since her arrival last night? Bursting into the room he glided across it in a few fluid strides. He grasped the knob of a quite plain door and pulled it open with such force that it would have crashed against the wall if he had paused long enough to release the knob from his grasp.

"This room," he said gesturing into the small room beyond the door. "Surely you have seen one similar?"

"No," she replied apparently still quite confused.

"It is called indoor plumbing. We, that is to say, everyone, has been using it for _severa_l hundred years." He emphasized the word several as he turned to look at her.

"And what is this plumbing?" she asked quite seriously.

"You know the water that runs from taps, it spills forth from pipes in the walls!" He grew increasingly impatient and perhaps even a bit angry with her.

"Water indoors? No buckets or pumps?"

"Certainly not."

Perhaps the graves in her vision weren't new after all? The dates were not a mistake and just maybe Dumbledore was right about her date and place of birth. Yes, it was even more clear that this girl was of the distent past. A past which Severus had only read about. Some things would need explaining to her.

"And what is that chair, some sort of…of converted chamber pot?" the girl asked.

"Yes," in the mirror his face appeared very angry and frustrated, his cheeks reddened. "One would sit, and carry out…certain tasks, and then push the lever," he demonstrated and, when the toilet flushed loudly, the girl's hand flew to her chest to clutch at the fabric of her gown. "And the water and…things are taken away in pipes." At the shocked look on her face he quickly added, "Different pipes from the ones that bring the water to this room."

"I see," said Lyssanne, obviously fascinated. "I have read of the engineering feats of the ancient Romans, Greeks, and Egyptians. I even heard rumor from a traveler that the king of Crete has something similar to this chair…thing. Yet, I have never come upon such a room as this. The castle is a most wondrous place and I feel so deeply honored to be your guest."

"As I cannot waste such a precious thing as time, I will leave you to your fascination with water pipes and musings regarding honor. Good day, Miss Caelistis." And with a swish of robes, he did just that.


	4. Chapter 3 Troubled Waters and Shifting S

**Chapter 3**

**Troubled Waters and Shifting Sands**

"The illimitable, silent, never-resting thing called Time, rolling, rushing on, swift, silent, like an all-embracing ocean-tide, on which we and all the universe swim like exhalations, like apparitions which are, and then are not: this is forever very literally a miracle; a thing to strike us dumb, for we have no word to speak about it." - Thomas Carlyle, Scottish author (1795-1881)

"However quick the stream may be, it does not carry away the reflection of the moon." - Traditional Zen proverb

Lyssanne emerged from her restroom shortly after noon carrying a recently dampened washcloth and her rather worse-for-wear gown. Clad only in her now short-sleeved white chemise, she spread the outer garment upon the bed and began the task of removing dirt, grass stains, and ash. The latter, she suspected, was a remnant of the unfortunate tree that had suffered her intended fate the previous night. Lyssanne tried to banish all thought of the events of that night as she scrubbed vigorously at a particularly difficult stain. She didn't know how long she would be forced to remain in this place, and this was the only garment she had. It needed to at least appear somewhat presentable.

Thoughts of home brought a return of the anxiety she had fought to quell since her arrival. What had become of Gareth? And was the village yet besieged by that foul mist? Could the witch have been right about the prophecy, as ridiculous as that seemed? Lyssanne knew only that, despite the danger to her own life, she must find a way to return as quickly as possible.

Suddenly, a loud pop sounded just behind her left shoulder. Lyssanne dropped the washcloth, her hand flying to rest over her racing heart. Spinning around, she came face-to-face with the house elf known as Dobby.

"Dobby did not mean to frighten Miss Lyssanne," he said in a squeaky, apologetic voice. "Dobby just came to check…oh! He will clean Miss Lyssanne's dress!" The little elf bounced with excitement. He snapped his fingers, there was another loud pop, and the gown looked nearly as good as new.

"Thank you Dobby. I am most grateful." Her voice still reflected how startled she had been. "I admit I do not know if I shall ever become accustomed to your entrances."

"Dobby will knock from now on, just for Miss Lyssanne," he stated, puffing up his chest as though he had just made a solemn declaration. "Is Miss feeling better with the bandage?" he asked, referring to the burn on her right forearm.

A few hours earlier, the observant house elf had noticed the charred hole in her right sleeve where Funestra's potion had made contact. Only Lyssanne's fervent protests had prevented him from fetching one of the professors to have a look at it. The elf had then proceeded to inspect the badly burned spot and had insisted on magically shortening the snug sleeve so that the injury could be cleaned and bandaged. Naturally, the other sleeve had to be shortened as well. Lyssanne recalled with some amusement how frightening she had first thought this little creature. Since meeting him the night before, however, she had grown quite fond of the caring elf. Like her, he seemed to find his greatest joy in assisting others.

"It is much better, thanks be to you," she replied, not having the heart to tell him how badly it still hurt. "Would you have time to remain and talk with me for a while?" she asked, suddenly not wishing to be alone with her thoughts.

"You wish…wish for Dobby's company?" he asked incredulously, dabbing at the corners of his eyes. "Miss is…is as great as Harry Potter!" the elf sniffled dramatically.

"Thank you, Dobby. Please do not weep!" Lyssanne implored. Distressed by his tears, she attempted to change the subject. "Who is this one you call Harry Potter?"

Lyssanne spent the next hour listening to Dobby's extraordinary tales of the life of a boy named Harry and the wonders of Hogwarts. Once more alone, her thoughts turned inevitably to her predicament. No matter how fascinating these people and their castle may be, she reminded herself, they were still sorcerers and not to be trusted. Especially, she mused with a slight shudder, not this Professor Snape. It was almost as if she could still feel traces of his presence inside her mind, even though she knew that their mysterious mental link had been broken before she had left his dungeons. What had he done to her?

Knowing it would be several hours until she was expected for dinner and that Dobby would come to show her the way when it was time, Lyssanne reclined on the chaise facing the empty fireplace and closed her eyes. She would need all her wits about her for the dinner ahead, and her lack of sleep would not help matters

Lyssanne lifted an antique, ivory pendant from beneath her chemise and began absently turning it in her fingers. She often did this when in distress or thinking of her mother. This small token was the last thing Brynna Caelestis had given her daughter, a keepsake passed from mother to child for countless generations. The heirloom was fashioned in the shape of a dove surrounded by a serpent. One of the dove's wings overlapped the serpent's tail, while the other lay beneath it. The dove's head rested peacefully on a coil, as the head of the serpent gazed outward with menacing eyes. At that moment, both of Lyssanne's usual reasons for retrieving the pendant applied.

It was impossible to relax. The Professor's earlier intrusion into her mind had left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Lyssanne had the feeling he had seen the same memories that had flashed before her in those brief moments when she had looked into his eyes. Those eyes - dark fathomless pools in which one could easily drown - had pulled her into their black depths with the force of an undertow. To look into those eyes was to risk losing herself entirely. She certainly wouldn't make _that_ mistake again.

The first memory the professor had witnessed had been of her parents' graves shortly after her mother's death. Lyssanne had only been fourteen years old when her mother had succumbed to the Fever. She thought back to the last conversation she had shared with the only parent she had ever known.

"Though your senses may be deceived, your heart cannot," her mother had said in a raspy voice. "That is the one advantage you have over the rest of us. While other's lips may lie, your heart will know the truth. I can in no way comprehend this gift you have. It comforts me even as it causes me to fear for you." She had clutched Lyssanne's hand then and continued desperately, "Guard your secret well my child, but hold it close. It may one day save your life."

Lyssanne hadn't really understood what her mother meant at the time. She had always just thought herself more sensitive than most to the feelings of others. She'd never had a reason to question what came automatically to her or to think it was anything unusual. But now she was beginning to wonder about the significance of this "gift", and hoped her mother had been right.

Could she trust herself to know the true intentions of these people? Or could they deceive her into false security with some dark spell? She thought of the feeling of safety she had experienced as Professor Snape had cradled her on the floor of the headmaster's office the night before. It had been far too many years since Lyssanne had felt truly secure and protected; as though she had no need to guard against some evil curse or calamity just waiting to strike. Surely he had used some power to deceive her. After all, he could read her thoughts! Lyssanne clutched her pendant so tightly that it left an impression in her palm. If he could do this whenever he wished and could keep his own emotions so completely hidden from her, what hope did she have of protecting herself? And now it was quite possible that they knew about Funestra. What if these were friends of hers? Perhaps the witch had even attended this school during her exile. Would they try to finish what she had started? And were they also aware of Lyssanne's unusual abilities?

"No! I will not give in to this," Lyssanne stated firmly to the emptiness of her grand surroundings. Now sitting forward, her chin resting in her hands, she thought how silly it was to speak when there was no one to hear her words. But, perhaps hearing those words from her own lips would strengthen her conviction.

Her mother's final words came back to her then. "Promise me that, no matter what happens in your life, you will never lose hope."

That, at least, she knew she could, and must, cling to. She had very nearly lost all hope in those moments in the dungeons. That was the one thing Funestra had tried repeatedly to steal from her, hope. And Lyssanne would not allow these people to succeed where that sorceress had failed. Besides, she knew that her faith had never yet failed her. Though she found herself in this most strange and frightening place, she was…by some miracle…still alive. And while she had no doubt that these people were dangerous, and most likely evil; they seemed, at least for the moment, to want her to stay that way. Holding onto that thin ray of hope, Lyssanne at last gave in to her exhaustion and slept.

Professor Severus Snape sat at his desk with various scrolls spread across its surface. He had to begin preparing his lesson plans. He revised them each year to include information, which had been provided on potions and their ingredients as a result of current research. He was convinced that the students, because they were nothing but a bunch of dunderheads, did not appreciate his efforts. He revised anyway and always hoped, with each sorting ceremony, that a talented potions student would arrive at Hogwarts and thus be subjected to his careful and thorough tutelage.

While flipping through his notes on current wolfsbane research his thoughts began to wander. He was fascinated by developments with the wolfsbane potion but he hadn't found the most recent updates very useful. Since the report, and his resulting notes, were virtually useless and entirely dull, he thought of the stranger Lyssanne.

What he had seen in her thoughts left him uneasy. She had seemed so innocent on the outside, perhaps even helpless and weak. Her thoughts told otherwise. They spoke of the pain she had endured for so long. Her struggle was right under the surface and he was sure he had scratched too deep. The hopelessness he sensed within her reminded him of how he had often felt. It was all too close to his own desperate thoughts.

How would the presence of such a being affect Hogwarts? He wasn't sure. She had such a fear of magic. He hadn't helped to calm those fears by breaking into her thoughts and robbing her of her perceived safety. How would she survive here with such fears? She'd become even more of a coward, perhaps even running from the children. Though he supposed her strength could shine through somehow. Albus had seen something in her, and Severus himself had even seen a glimpse of it. She had a light hidden inside, beneath the pain, the struggle, the veil she wore.

The headmaster seemed as though he had forgotten the business at hand. _We are fighting a war, perhaps not with weapons and wand-to-wand combat, but it will come to that soon. We should be preparing for that, not getting caught up in the affairs of a girl who traveled forward in time some five hundred years. Should we care about her people? Perhaps they have some effect on us today. If we let them die it could be the end of a whole race._

Severus's thoughts were tangled in themselves. He knew he had to separate them and set the strands apart but he was not ready for such intense work. He assumed, perhaps wrongly, that the girl would be around for quite some time. This would give him ample time to sort out his thoughts.

Severus began to wonder why things had to be so complicated. He leaned back in his chair and thought. Sometimes he could sit like that for hours. In his office the jars of potion ingredients would disappear one by one as his mind cleared and became nothing but thoughts. It was as if nothing was there in his office except a man and his thoughts. No extra chair, desk or shelves. It was all a blur as his thoughts cleared.

He recalled the Death Eater meeting which had taken place the week before. Once again it had been a torturous affair. He had returned bruised and bleeding and with little hope. The valid worry that he would be discovered as a spy was never far from his current thoughts. It crept in from nowhere, stalking him like some kind of rabid predator. If he were found out the danger to his life would be nothing compared with the danger to the wizarding world. Nearly everything the Order did was a direct result of information Severus could obtain from the Dark Lord himself, Death Eater meetings, or polite conversation with fellow Death Eaters. Without the information, which flowed into the Orders hands like sunlight on a river, no one would be safe.

He had risked so much. Each day had been a constant battle. He walked in the dark but tried to live in the light. It all had an effect on who he was inside. The gray within him was gloomy and lonely. Sometimes it was like no one cared about him, Severus Snape, Potions Master, professor, son, friend, person, living being with real emotions. They loved him for who he was as spy, Death Eater, and Order member. But that love was only surface deep. Real love, he knew what it was, but it was just beyond his grasp. He had to strengthen the gloom within because the students would be returning soon. He had to practice his act, the curtains surrounding the stage that was Hogwarts had been parted. The audience stood before him, a strange girl from the past who was seeking assistance. Would he help her? This was a decision that created more tangled thoughts within his mind. For now he would write lesson plans and he would face her later, his thoughts gray before her eyes. He was sure she could read them.

The corridors of Hogwarts seemed somewhat less foreboding in late afternoon than they had in the depths of the night. Dobby moved through the halls with surprising speed for one so small, and Lyssanne found herself once more rushing through this maze of a castle. Keeping her eyes fixed on the elf, she followed with the air of a soldier heading into battle - her steps steady, head held high, and posture bearing testimony to sheer determination. Some much-needed rest and a soothing bath had helped to clear her mind and restore her physical and emotional strength.

During the past hour, Lyssanne had made a solemn vow to face whatever lay before her with courage and faith. Though she may have little or no defense against sorcery, she would meet her fate with dignity. Perhaps she could not change the path of her destiny, but she alone would determine how she'd tread the road. Lyssanne's unquenchable spirit and will to survive had seen her through fear, pain, and uncertain times before; this would be no different.

_I shall find a way to return home or die in the attempt, _Lyssanne silently promised herself as the ornate doors of the Great Hall came into view. Too lost in her thoughts to notice her surroundings, she began to mentally prepare herself for the encounter to come. For as long as necessary, she would do everything she could to remain in the good graces of her hosts. And perhaps in the meantime, she would learn something here that could help her if, no when, she again faced the enemy of her people. However, if it were within her power, the residents of Hogwarts would never again see her fear and vulnerability.

At last they had reached their destination and Lyssanne asked Dobby whether she should wait to be announced before entering. The elf assured her that she was expected and promptly vanished with his characteristic pop. The young woman took one last steadying breath and opened the doors to fate.

She simply stood in the doorway for a few moments, in awe of the splendor before her. The room was cavernous, to say the least. It fairly glistened with the light of hundreds of candles that seemed to float in the air under the ceiling - _was_ there a ceiling? The sky appeared overhead as though the hall had no roof, yet Lyssanne could not feel the slightest breeze. The pleasant air had the distinct feel of being indoors. Surely this was an enchanted castle worthy of the most imaginative children's tale. Looking down once more, the young woman's gaze followed the rows of four long tables to the far end of the room. There on a raised dais, a single table stood facing all the others. Seated there were Professors Dumbledore and Snape, along with several people Lyssanne had never seen.

"Ah, welcome my dear," Dumbledore said cheerfully, rising from his high-backed, throne-like chair at the table's center. "Won't you join us?"

Leaving the doorway at last, Lyssanne made her way toward the head table and paused near the end of one of the rows.

"Where shall I sit?" she asked, gazing around at the four longer tables.

"I have reserved a place for you here," he said, indicating an empty seat to his immediate right and next to a rather stern-looking woman in green robes.

Lyssanne noticed that Professor Snape was seated on the same side of the table, but nearer the end. She climbed the dais and moved around the table at the opposite end to avoid close proximity with him.

"Well then let's eat," Dumbledore said once Lyssanne was seated and had been introduced.

Polite but somewhat hushed conversation was made as everyone ate. Some of the professors talked of the students who would be arriving in just two short weeks, others spoke of events in the news, and a few commented on the food. Lyssanne felt overwhelmed by the mingled emotions and often-incomprehensible phrases issuing from the people surrounding her.

She was utterly amazed at the amount and variety of food set before them. So many of the dishes were completely unfamiliar to her. Lyssanne's customary fare usually included some combination of bread, cheese, porridge at harvest time, seasonal fruit or fresh vegetables from her small garden, and occasionally meats shared among the villagers when one of the farmers had livestock to butcher. Deciding to stick with what she knew, she chose a slim slice of ham and a cluster of grapes.

"What do you think of Hogwarts thus far?" asked the woman she believed was named Minerva.

"Oh, it is a remarkable place," Lyssanne replied vaguely as she selected a small roll from the wicker basket in front of her. "I am certain that any royal family would be proud to hold court in such a grand and stately castle. Though it is so immense that I daresay it would be possible to wander for days without retracing one's steps."

"Yes that is true," Minerva agreed. "The pumpkin juice is very good this year," she commented as she lifted a goblet filled with the curious orange beverage that Lyssanne had not yet tasted.

While Minerva returned her attention to a pile of some smooth, white substance that smelled like potatoes, Lyssanne took the opportunity to watch the other staff members briefly. These people could all do magic, she thought. The notion was quite unsettling, although she had not detected any malevolent sentiments thus far. Catching Dumbledore's eye, she decided to ask the question that had been on her mind for several minutes.

"Professor?" she asked, leaning slightly in his direction and speaking almost in a whisper. "Is today a feast day in your country?"

"Feast day?" He seemed quite puzzled until he followed Lyssanne's gaze as she glanced at all the food. "Oh, no. I forget sometimes that not everyone is accustomed to our fine staff of house elves. They do take great pride in preparing the finest selections. When Hogwarts does host a feast, now that is quite extravagant!" He said the last with a rich, deep chuckle. "And I suppose things were quite different in your time."

"In my time?" Lyssanne was quite confused. Perhaps this was another of their unusual phrases.

"Hmmm, I would have thought that Severus might have mentioned this when you saw him earlier. But, then I suppose -." He trailed off thoughtfully with a glance toward the end of the table. "No matter." He cleared his throat, looked into Lyssanne's eyes, and continued in a paternal tone. "This may come as quite a surprise to you. It seems that, the incident which led to your arrival in the Dark Forest has also caused you to be transported forward in time."

"Transported -" She blinked several times and looked, unseeing, at her half-eaten dinner. "How far in time?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Exactly five hundred years, to the minute, I believe."

Lyssanne took a very large sip of her pumpkin juice and closed her eyes. Her stomach lurched as though the entire world had suddenly tilted. She stood on the shore of some vast ocean and the sand was rapidly slipping from beneath her feet.

"Are you all right, Lyssanne?" Dumbledore's concern flooded her senses as he placed a hand gently on her arm.

"Yes, it is just a bit disconcerting. But, after all," she laughed somewhat shakily, "I already knew that I had traveled many miles in a matter of seconds. So, I suppose traveling across centuries is not entirely unthinkable."

"We are investigating methods of turning back the sands of time, which may allow you to return to the world you left behind," Dumbledore assured her.

"If such a thing is possible, I would be unable to adequately express my gratitude to you. Your world is so foreign to me. How does one adjust to 500 years of change?"

"Time," he answered sagely. "As with everything else in life. All things in time."

That said, they turned their attention back to the meal. Lyssanne nibbled a few more grapes, but had little appetite.

"So have you had any experience with modern magic?" Minerva asked.

"It is difficult for me to say which of the things I have experienced here are attributed to magic and which are simply the result of centuries of progress. Though I have witnessed the use of magic in my own time." Lyssanne unconsciously glanced at her bandaged arm.

"Were you injured recently?' Minerva sounded concerned. She had obviously noticed the bandage.

"That," Lyssanne replied darkly, "is simply the result of one of my encounters with magic. Evil creates wounds that are not easily healed."

"Well, I do believe that magic is neither good nor evil," Dumbledore began, setting down his fork. "The witch or wizard performing the magic is the only one who can decide whether a spell is to be used for good or for evil. Magic is what it is. Some are born with magical abilities and others are not."

"Dobby the house elf said much the same thing," Lyssanne replied thoughtfully. "I would like to believe you, Professor. For, I have always felt that it is both foolish and wrong to judge an entire group based on the actions of a few of its members. However, as everyone here seems to either be a sorce- um - wizard or magical creature, I have no impartial party to ask. How then can I know that your comments are true and not simply self-serving?" This last she asked, not accusingly, but with genuine interest.

"Miss Lyssanne," Snape said from down the table as he leaned forward. "There are few who would dare to question the headmaster's words. Surely he, of all people, should know the complexities of magic and the traits of those who perform it."

"But, as you said yourself," she responded, glancing only briefly in his general direction, "am I to be foolish enough to believe a stranger whom I have barely met?"

The fork, which Snape was still holding poised in midair as if to illustrate the point he had been trying to make, clattered to his plate. He sent a piercing stare in Lyssanne's direction and the ice bit at her skin. She was quite certain that, at that moment, the man despised her.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore chuckled, "It would seem that we have at last found someone who possesses a wit to match your own."

Severus did not reply.

"Well magic is quite complex indeed," Minerva commented.

"Even taking care of our magical plants has it's complexities, good points, and drawbacks," Professor Sprout exclaimed.

"You do make a valid point," Dumbledore mused. "In these dark times, as in the fifteenth century, it is often unwise and even quite dangerous to trust blindly. It is my hope that during your stay we shall all endeavor to earn your trust." He stressed the word "all" with a meaningful glance toward the end of the table.

Severus ate in silence.

"Well uh Miss uh Lyssanne," the big man called Hagrid began as he looked at her over his bushy beard. "What do ye plan on doin' while yer at Hogwarts?" He wiped his mouth on an enormous napkin and began to eat again even before she could reply.

"Well, I - I do not know, " she said thoughtfully. "I am exceedingly grateful for your gracious hospitality and do wish to find some way of repaying your generosity."

"There must be something that interests you," the healer Madam Pomfrey said enthusiastically. "As far as I'm concerned healing the sick is the most interesting in life. It is so rewarding. I am never bored. There's always something new to learn."

The woman's passion for her craft radiated from her like the brilliant summer sun emerging from a cloud. Lyssanne felt an instant kinship to her.

"I know exactly the feeling you speak of. It is a mirror of my own experience in teaching. I am, or was," she sighed, "caretaker of the village children. To see a young face light up with knowledge or the spark of comprehension dawn in the eyes of a child is, for me, a joy beyond words."

"Well then," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes sparkling like polished gems. "I think I have just the thing to occupy your time."

Snape's head turned abruptly and Lyssanne noticed. He had a scowl across his face and he listened intently.

"Oh? How may I be of service, Professor?"

"I think, if I am not mistaken, that we are in need of another elective course here at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said with a grin.

Snape set down his fork, quietly this time.

Minerva stopped pushing the carrots around on her plate.

Professor Sprout raised her eyebrows and no one could have missed Hagrid beaming, except for Madam Pomfrey who was retrieving her napkin from the floor.

"What type of course?' Lyssanne inquired. "I am completely at a loss as to what fields of study may be presented at a school of magic. And I must admit," she said blushing slightly, "that I am quite curious."

"I'm not sure what subject exactly," Dumbledore said thoughtfully. "We need an elective. Something a little out of the ordinary. What would you suggest Miss Caelestis? What would your people believe was important to teach the children?"

"I believe that the children of noble families - the boys, that is - were instructed in Latin, mathematics, and philosophy. However, I have always preferred literature. In fact, Llytlesby is, was, the only village in Lastarra to boast of a new generation of literate peasant children."

"It's settled then!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "We shall have to sort you into a house, Minerva will take you to Diagon Alley to buy a few supplies, and Severus will help you organize your classroom, become familiarized with teaching policies, and start writing a lesson plan." Still smiling he lifted his glass as if to propose a toast then added, "You need not worry about magic in the classroom. You will not need it and I shall forbid the students to perform magic during your lessons." He lowered his glass perhaps deciding that a toast was a bit much. "I'm glad we have settled the matter. I was beginning to wonder where I would find another professor, and, I'm afraid it may be a bit of time before you can return to your homeland." With this last he presented a sad smile in Lyssanne's direction.

She had no time to register the fact that Dumbledore had just suggested, no proclaimed, that she would teach a class in a school of magic. In the next instant, almost before Dumbledore had finished speaking, Lyssanne's consciousness was assaulted by a wave of emotion so brief, yet so powerful, that it nearly pushed her back against her chair. As a streak of lightning illuminates the night sky and is gone, flashes of the innermost feelings of Severus Snape became clear to her for the first time. There was concern, for the welfare of the students perhaps, and - jealousy? - Yes, though she could not fathom the reason for it. Overshadowing it all was a growing indignation, and Lyssanne braced herself for the explosion that would surely come in the next seconds. She didn't have long to wait.

He could not believe what he had just heard! A mere muggle, or whatever she was, would be teaching at Hogwarts? A stranger who had just appeared out of nowhere in the night. What was the world coming to? Hogwarts was completely out of control because the headmaster had been swept up in the affairs of some poor girl from the past and a troubled kingdom. There were no kingdoms now. In modern times there should be considerations before someone was hired. True, the headmaster had chosen a werewolf, evil death eater in disguise, and other incompetent persons to instruct students in Defense Against the Dark Arts. But this girl, Lyssanne, wasn't even a part of their world!

Severus pushed his chair backward with such force that it tottered noisily as he rose from his seat. He turned to face Dumbledore and glared at the girl.

"What is the meaning of this!" he said as if he were addressing his students, his voice rising with every word.

The headmaster remained calm, his cool blue eyes fixed on Severus.

"Severus, my dear boy, I hardly think this the time or the place to raise objections with my selection of new faculty."

"I am growing uncertain of your judgment," Severus said more quietly.

He could not believe that the headmaster had referred to him as his "dear boy" in front of the entire staff of Hogwarts. Was the man trying to prove some kind of point? Did he honestly believe that such a comment would soothe Severus into silent submission?

"Perhaps we should discuss your concerns in my office. We could retire there in a moment for a bit of after dinner tea." Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling again as he spoke.

Tea? The last thing Severus needed was a spot of tea. Was he supposed to just forget everything? Albus should know that he, Severus, was not a mild spoken compliant little professor. He had his own mind, complete with his own thoughts. Was he not free to express them before the assembled faculty?

"Might it be wise to invite any other members of the faculty, who, despite their present silence, might object to your hasty selection of faculty?" Severus suggested coldly as he returned to his chair, which needed straightening before it could be sat upon.

The table was quiet accept for a few rustles of those who were still eating. Those with larger appetites than Severus possessed. Lyssanne was blushing and looked as though she could slip under the table. She shot a glance at Severus, and whatever he saw in her eyes, he knew not what it was, but he didn't think he liked it.

"I am unaware of any such objections," Dumbledore said.

Most everyone began eating again and a few politely excused themselves from the table without looking back.

Severus had lost his appetite entirely. To make matters worse, he now had a pounding headache. He could feel the blood pumping through his veins. Each vein was going to burst. There was too much blood…not enough room…head pounding…questions unanswered…an old, unreasonable but usually wise, man sat much too close to Severus.

Dumbledore was standing up. Severus was shaken from his thoughts inside their reactive body.

"I believe I will retire to my chambers." He said to everyone. "I have some personal matters to which I must attend. Severus, if you wish to have any further discussion with me please come to my office in the morning. Lyssanne I will be expecting you for your sorting ceremony tomorrow morning. We shall do that in my office as well."

A few professors gave their goodnights.

"Goodnight everyone!" Dumbledore exclaimed enthusiastically. "Rest well, we will soon be busy with students who have slipped out of bed, are ill in the night, or who have devised most interesting pranks in the middle of the night." His eyes danced as he spoke of the little brats as though they were his long lost relatives. The old man loved pranks and late night adventures far too much.

Severus burst through the faculty exit behind him, leaving Lyssanne to sit alone at the head table in stunned silence.


End file.
